Cliffie could have taken Doran in the back door of the police department, of course, but that would have disappointed the reporters
he’d obviously tipped in advance. He’d even managed to snag a TV crew from one of the Cedar Rapids channels. Warning: mad dog killer brought to justice at 11:35 A.M.Don’t miss it.
And where there were reporters, there were passersby, twenty or so of them gathered in a semicircle around the squad car from which Harrison Doran, in handcuffs, was just now emerging. I’d pushed my way to the front of the crowd, my elbows making a lot of friends in the process. Cliffie took off his campaign hat and wiped his brow with his sleeve. The temperature was ninety-two. Eight or nine cameras snapped his face, and the TV reporter said, “Did he resist arrest, Chief?”
“Oh, he tried all right.” And then Cliffie slapped his holster. “But I guess he just plain didn’t know what he was up against.”
At least a few of the onlookers had the grace to laugh. Most of us quit playing cowboys about age seven or so. Somebody really should point that out to Cliffie sometime. But then if he was secretly Glenn Ford, I had to admit that I was still secretly Robert Ryan. Though Ryan was taller, better looking, tougher, and smarter than me, I could definitely see a similarity between us even if nobody else could.
Doran was gray. His blue eyes were frantic. I could see that he’d been crying. Then I remembered Molly saying that he’d been drunk. Maybe what I was seeing was a combination of terror and hangover. His jeans had grass stains all over the knees, and his T-shirt was smudged in three different places with what was obviously blood. The shirt should have been taken off him and put into an evidence bag. But after all, it was Cliffie in charge, wasn’t it?
Doran moved at an angle to me. I saw a long gash on the inside of his left arm. That could explain the blood on his T-shirt.
“Did you get a confession, Chief Sykes?” a reporter called out.
“Not yet. But we will.”
I watched Doran’s face. He didn’t react in any way. He was hiding, cowering inside himself.
“So you’ve got evidence against him?” another reporter asked.
“Take a look at this shirt.” Cliffie turned and grabbed a handful of the T-shirt so cameras could get a clear shot of it. This was the kind of evidence you kept to yourself in an arrest. Somewhere in town, the district attorney, another member of the Sykes clan, had just fainted.
He put his campaign hat on and raised his hands. “That’s it for now, everybody. We can’t have the front of the police station cluttered up this way. We’ll be having a press conference later this afternoon, but for now everybody should get back to what they were doing.”
The new station is two-storied red brick with wide concrete steps leading to double glass doors. Cliffie likes to stand on top of the steps for his press conferences. I’m sure it makes him feel like a big-city cop.
“Now, c’mon, everybody, let’s break it up.”
I stood where I was as everybody else broke for their cars or back to the sidewalks.
I stepped forward. “Sykes.”
I’d been speaking to his back. But when he heard my voice, he spun around so fast I thought he might draw on me. He had a sneer all ready. “Well, well, well. It’s my old friend McCain. I guess I must have missed seeing you in the crowd. Being’s you’re so short and all.”
“I’m going to be his attorney.”
“Did you hear that, Doran? Sam McCain’s going to be your attorney. Now you’ve really got trouble.” His deputy thought this was hilarious. Doran’s stunned look didn’t change.
“I need to talk to him.”
“Well, isn’t that nice? I’ll tell you what, McCain. You come back here around the same time tomorrow and I’ll see what I can do for you. How’s that?”
“Even you know better than that, Sykes. I don’t want him questioned unless I’m present.” I looked at Doran. “Do you hear that? You don’t say a word unless I’m with you, all right?”
“Well now, if he should just break down and tell me about how he killed poor Lou Bennett, you sure wouldn’t expect me not to listen to him, would you?”
He took Doran’s arm hard enough to make him wince. Then he shoved him forward. He started walking him up the steps, then turned back to me. “You’ll see him when I tell you you can see him, McCain, and not until then.”
He dragged Doran up the stairs and disappeared inside.